


Take Me, I'm Yours

by FearTheSpork



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: "Let's Wing It!" Fic Exchange, Chloe loves his dumb ass anyway., F/M, For the BAE, I hope you like it!, I just want them to be happy and in love, Lucifer is insecure, Skaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearTheSpork/pseuds/FearTheSpork
Summary: Part of the "Let's Wing It!" Fic Exchange and my gift to our lovely, talented Skaoi!-Lucifer drags himself back to civilisation, knowing that Chloe will never accept him.Chloe thinks that Lucifer knows absolutely nothing.





	Take Me, I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaoi/gifts).



> I hope I got the general feeling of the prompt right because I've had seventeen hundred and ninety three drafts of this baby and liked none of them- except this one. Hope you like it! 
> 
> P.S. I didn't know if you'd like smut or not so I left it as is. Also props to anyone who can find the Buffy reference in this!

[Take Me I'm Yours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEfVxJ6ngy0)

 

There were many words that described Lucifer Morningstar.

For example- determined. Stubborn.

In true hard-headed fashion, he'd half crawled, half walked home.

Bent at the waist, skin blistered and scorched and _why_ was it so hot exactly?

Oh yes- the desert. The desert that had spanned the length and bredth of the horizon, with white sand that had blinded him when he looked at it for too long. His eyes stung and his mouth was so dry that simply swallowing was like inhaling ashes.

The weight on his back was almost too much to bear but he moved anyway. Putting one foot in front of the other because he'd made a promise. He'd promised her that he would tell her the truth and Lucifer Morningstar was no liar.

He forced his leaden legs forward, once, then twice- until he was stumbling in a direction. Any direction. It didn't really matter. Civilisation would find him long before dehydration would.

At least, that's what he'd _hoped_.

He'd clearly been out here long enough to start cooking- immortality be damned.

Sure enough, a run down diner with the mandatory gas station had crept into view three hours into his trek home and he'd only just managed to remember that he had fucking _wings_ again now and that they might scare whatever humans lurked inside. So instead of heading for the much needed shade, he detoured towards the phone booth near the road instead.

He fell against the grotty looking machine that was straight out of the eighties- complete with a cheery looking poster peeling away on the inside of the plastic guard.

The upbeat face of a cartoon sun taunted him- _There's no place like Drumlin Diner!_ \- as he shakily checked the machine for any change left behind. Lo' and behold- there at the very bottom of the metal tray were a few long forgotten coins and he almost sent up a thank you.

Almost.

Foolish. Hopeful. Forgotten.

He wasn't delirious quite yet.

He dialled the one number he'd committed to memory, swallowing hard and regretting it when his throat protested violently.

His wings were folded against his back, tightly, so as not to alert anyone to their presence. Not that there were many people to alert but still. All it took was one human and he'd be outed. The news would travel faster than he'd be able to stop it.

It had been so long since he'd had to hide his wings away that he'd half forgotten how, so instead of disappearing completely they continued to phase in and out of existence- going from translucent to white and back again at an alarming rate.

An epileptic's worst nightmare.

Through sheer force of will- he managed to get them to a reasonable level of non-existence as the phone rang shrilly against his ear. The noise made his head ache even more than it already was but he pressed harder against the cold, cheap handset in spite of it.

He let his forehead fall against the dirty plastic on the fourth ring.

She wasn't going to answer.

The fifth ring and his heart sank in his chest, legs began to shake from the effort of simply holding himself up. The sixth and darkness pulled at the edge of his vision harder than before. Surely he wasn't about to pass out when he was so close to-

"Decker."

Joyful. Relieved. Happy.

Her voice was like water spilling over him. Like he'd just spread himself over the cool sheets of his bed after a long day and he smiled wide, utterly _thrilled_ to hear her voice again. This was all he'd been thinking about since he'd woken up. His lips hurt but he didn't care. Miracle from dad or not, she was more than enough reason for him to smile.

He wanted to ask a million questions. Ones that he knew she didn't have answers for and ones that she did. How long had he been gone? Had she been worried for him? Why were his only connection to his past life suddenly back- after he'd so thoroughly severed his contact?

But none of that came out.

Instead, he weakly breathed, _"Detective?"_

He heard her call his name- her voice much too far away and tinny-before he slumped against the side of the booth and slid down. The dark seemed so welcoming and he was tired. He hit the dirt with a thud, his breathing hard and the phone still cradled against his ear. She sounded startled and called his name again.

He intended to answer with his usual eloquence. Tell her that everything was alright and that he was going to come home to her as soon as he could. But his exhausted mouth could only form a mumble.

She was still calling his name and he was still smiling even as he slipped into unconsciousness.

-

The next time he awoke, he was in a bed.

Although not his own. This one was all soft down instead of silk sheets, smelling of vanilla rather than loneliness and it did things to his head that sent it spinning off into space. He ached all over and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. He'd never felt so dreadful in his entire life and that was saying something.

Shapes danced in the soft light of the lamp next to him and his wings shifted underneath his body restlessly.

They wanted to fly.

He wanted to rend them from his back and turn them back into ash.

When his eyes focused at long last, he recognised the decor of Chloe's bedroom with a dawning, sickening realisation that the shadows dancing around him weren't tricks of the light at all- but people gathered next to his bedside.

Certain _humans_.

Certain humans that were seeing his wings as clear as day.

He panicked.

Much later he'd probably be embarrassed over how he'd reacted but right now he needed to get them hidden again because she'd probably seen too much already. She most definitely _knew_ and despite being so ready to tell her before, the sheer gravity of the situation hit him all at once.

She would never look at him the same way again.

That warmth in her eyes when she was with him would burn out. His place in her life would be non-existent and the panic- the _icy hard panic_ that washed over him at the thought of her rejection was stifling.

No, no, no.

Terrified. Self-hating.

He'd always said he had nothing to lose and the weight of the realisation that he did hit him all at once. He shot upwards, urging his wings to vanish and startling the rooms other occupants.

But his strength was depleted from his trek through the desert and he simply couldn't force them back to where they should be. His breaths were starting to hurt now, sharp pains jabbing him with every inhale and he felt a wildness begin to crawl it's way along his back.

He heard voices, her voice and then a door close.

He needed to get out of here using any means possible. Needed to get away. Get _anywhere_ else.

A hand on his forehead made him jump- made him snarl like a feral animal.

But the hand didn't move away like he expected it to and when he looked up, there she was- and fuck if she didn't just take his breath away.

"Chloe?" he croaked out softly, the word utter agony to say for many different reasons.

Her eyes were red rimmed but she smiled at him all the same, her palm still against his forehead and her thumb rubbing over his brow. All the fight left him in a rush and he let her push him back against the pillows- wings splayed out because she'd clearly already seen them and there was no going back now.

He swallowed and winced before a glass of water was pressed to his lips.

"Drink," she said softly but it was definitely an order and he obeyed, sipping slowly until the entire glass was gone.

He could sense Mazikeen's presence lurking somewhere in the apartment and he was relieved. At least one person in the house could vaguely understand whatever was going on. At least one person in this house could control him if he did something that might hurt his Detective.

_His_ Detective. He thought about her as though he still belonged with her. Like he could still call her his after all of this. That thought alone made his heart ache more than he'd ever thought possible.

The empty glass was set aside and Chloe sat gingerly on the edge of the bed so as not to move him too much.

Lucifer wanted to tell her that he didn't mind- that he wanted her as close as possible for as long as she would stay. He would savour every second she spent in his presence even if she was telling him goodbye.

But all that came out of his mouth was, "How long was I gone?"

She blinked, sniffed and looked down to the floor.

"Um, thirty seven days, yesterday. Thirty eight today. Except today doesn't count, does it?" she answered softly and her voice caught. He could have sworn, just for a moment, that his steely Detective had tears in those gorgeous blue eyes of hers but he quickly dismissed it.

Tears shed for him were like fairy tales and he wouldn't start believing in them now.

Except- except one rolled down her cheek and she inhaled harshly, springing up from the bed and wiping at her eyes furiously.

She turned away from him and he frowned.

Confused. Worried. Regretful.

Hearing her say goodbye first was possibly one of the few things on earth that could destroy him entirely. Two weeks away in Vegas- where he'd tried and miserably failed to get over her would seem like nothing compared to a lifetime of knowing she didn't want him around.

So he would give her an out before she could get there first.

"Just give me a few hours to recuperate darling and I promise you'll never have to deal with any of this again. I'll be out of your hair before you know it." The words tasted like poison- like sandpaper on his tongue but he said them all the same.

Her head snapped around, eyes boring into his and the feathers under the comforter shifted and trembled under the weight of her stare.

"Like _Hell_ you will!"

Well then.

That was him told.

"Do you really think I'm going to let you out of my sight now that you're here?" she balked, seemingly amazed at his stupidity. Lucifer certainly _felt_ stupid right this second but he couldn't really understand why. Honestly, he'd assumed things were heading in that direction anyway.

Why even bother delaying the inevitable?

"I thought you were dead Lucifer," her voice had an edge to it that he'd never heard before. A hoarse desperation mixed with fear had replaced her usual teasing sarcasm.

But was it fear _for_ him? Or _of_ him?

He frowned hard, void of any of his usual bravado. He cocked his head to the side and studied her at long last. He'd been so relieved just to see her face that he hadn't bothered to see all the little signs on it.

She looked tired. Not the same kind of tired he'd seen at the end of a long day- the tired that could be fixed with a cocktail and a warm bed or a conversation between friends.

The bags under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and long days. Her shoulders were sloped downwards like she carried the weight of the world and he was jarringly reminded of the story of Atlas. She was carrying so many burdens already and he'd selfishly added to them without even meaning to.

A dawning realisation hit him that he would do anything to carry them for her.

He thought that, for her, he would be Atlas. He would shoulder the weight of the world with a smile and if he happened to fall, he would fall happy- knowing that it had been for her. His eyes softened as they always did when he looked at her.

Falling for his Rebellion had been an agony he never wanted to experience again. But falling for her? That would be nothing but bliss.

She'd migrated to his bedside once more during his unusual bout of silence and he only came back to the room when her pinky finger hooked over his on the bed and their eyes met at last.

"You know though," he murmured softly and she threw him a half smile, eyes going to the very obvious sign of his divinity. His wings were taking up most of the room to be fair. They were hard to miss. He wondered if this was how they'd found him, slumped against a phone booth in the middle of nowhere.

"I know everything. Maze explained most of it on the drive back."

"How did that go?" he asked, presenting the very picture of a man who was both unperturbed by her answer and wracked by it at the same time. She snorted softly, eyes going to the ceiling and he assumed she hadn't taken it well at all, despite her calm demeanour here.

"I freaked out. There was a long of swearing. A lot of me demanding explanations and then swearing some more."

He couldn't imagine Chloe Decker swearing out loud, let alone going on a rant. Mazikeen would no doubt be thrilled to regale him with the tale much later on. Including everything that was said, right down to the smallest detail.

"And yet here you are," he said, eyes flickering to their hands on the bed next to him.

"Here I am," she nodded and her fingers threaded through his then, squeezing softly. Lucifer had never felt relief like this. His muscles relaxed from tension he didn't even know he had and he practically melted back against the mattress. "I'm still processing everything," she added, side eyeing him in case he thought that this was the end of the discussion.

Lucifer had no such daydreams. He knew things wouldn't be quite so easy but she was here and she wasn't screaming in fear so it was a better start that he could have ever hoped for.

"Take as long as you need darling," he said softly, thumb rubbing circles on her skin. "I can still leave if-"

"No," she said firmly, facing him. Then her voice softened into that lilt that always stirred things in the pit of his stomach that had no business being stirred. "No. I've only just gotten you back. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

Lucifer exhaled slowly.

His answer was weighted, hanging heavy in the air. A seriousness he rarely used and that worried him when he heard it come out of his mouth.

"You realise that I'm the _Devil_ , Detective. I'm dangerous."

Dangerous. Scary. Feared. Monster.

All those gruesome words that described him when he was back in Hell- words that he heard whispered along the corridors and in the pits, from damned souls and demons alike. Everyone feared the Devil and they had good reason to.

Chloe looked at him and something shone in her eyes that he couldn't quite place. Maybe it didn't need a name. Her palm was warm when she cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Lucifer's eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the contact.

"I know what you are, Lucifer Morningstar," she murmured against his skin before pulling away and giving him a smile. _She smiled at him_ \- knowing what he was and who he'd been and he could feel his anguished soul flourish into something else.

Something better.

Lucifer reached out for her and she obliged him, tucking herself against his side and resting atop his wing like it was an entirely normal situation. He had to force down the urge he felt to wrap it around her shoulders and pull her closer.

One small step at a time.

With every passing second, her breathing evened out and within minutes she was asleep- her hand resting on his chest and her face buried into his shoulder.

Lucifer let his tired head fall back, looking at the ceiling and tamping down all the questions that he wanted to ask that he knew he'd probably never have answers to. This was all the mattered. The bandaid had been well and truly ripped off and in the end the result wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected it to be.

She was here and she didn't hate him and that was something he'd never really recover from, he mused.

Maybe now there was a different word to describe him. One he found he liked far more than any of the others.

_Hers._

Lucifer smiled to himself and cast another look down to the blonde head that rose and fell with every breath he took.

Yes.

Yes, he liked the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> More soon!


End file.
